


Odysseus (who makes his home in Ithaca)

by coffeeandchocolate



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies)
Genre: F/M, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 03:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchocolate/pseuds/coffeeandchocolate
Summary: Maybe having a name like Cyclops was just tempting fate. Scott recovers from experimentation.





	

He woke up unable to see, but with the familiar weight of his visor still resting upon his face. He blinked repeatedly, but his vision didn’t return. The constant pressure behind his eyes was gone. In a flash, it all came back to him.

The lab. The experiment.

_“Damage to the optic nerve –”_

“He’s awake,” came the Professor’s voice. He – or someone near him – squeezed Scott’s upper arm. “Scott?”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“Finally.”

“Scott? Can you say something?”

Jean’s voice cut through the clamour of voices. “Guys! Quiet.”

The others fell silent. He tried to sit up. Jean was immediately by his side, helping him. She pressed a paper cup of water into his hand.

“Thanks.” His voice sounded strange and hoarse to his own ears. He drank, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Thanks.”

“Are you in any pain?” she asked, and he shook his head. It was taking him a lot of effort to not crush the empty cup. Jean took it away from him.

He raised a hand to his visor. “Glasses.”

“Got them right here.”

He switched the visor for the glasses that he no longer needed. Jean tousled his hair, and he had to resist the urge to lean into her touch. Him not being able to see the others didn’t change the fact that they were there.

“Mission reports,” he said instead. “We need to –”

“Scott!” Storm interrupted. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

“We have evidence of eight labs that are not only tied together but are extremely well funded,” he countered. “For all we know, there could be more. This is more than just…We need to find them and the people running them _now_.”

“And we will, Scott,” the Professor said, soothing. “But you need your rest. I’ve contacted several colleagues. They’re all looking into the matter as we speak.”

Scott relaxed a little, some of the fight going out of him.

“Give us some space for a while,” Jean said, and even though she said it mildly, it was an unmistakeable order. The others cleared out. “It’s just us, now, Scott. Talk to me. How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Scott…” Jean’s voice was painfully gentle. He felt her brushing at his mind, probing to see if he were telling the truth, feeling his need for someone to look at him, talk to him, with anything other than sympathy or pity. He squeezed his sightless eyes shut.

“Okay,” Jean said, and now there was a different note in her voice, something less gentle. A forced levity. “In that case…how about we go spend some time in the Danger Room?”

* * *

 It was almost embarrassing how quickly he leaped at the offer.

He liked to challenge himself by using the levels intended for a team alone. Jean didn’t let him, instead insisting on a lower level for the two of them together.

 _Not while you’re adjusting, love,_ she told him gently. _Soon, I promise. Just…not today, okay?_

And because she was Jean and had suggested they go in the first place, and hadn’t selected something insultingly low, and he knew that she believed in him, he didn’t argue.

Jean had been his best friend long before she’d been his fiancée, and she knew him better than anyone. Knew the only thing that would stop the feeling of worthlessness. Knew just what to do to make him feel like he was still Scott Summers.

Words of comfort and hugs, even coming from her, wouldn’t make him feel better, weren’t what he needed. What he needed was normalcy. Training was his normal.

Jean took off his glasses and cradled his face, leaning in to touch their foreheads together.

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” she said, and he laughed a little.

“Ironic, huh?”

She huffed with fond exasperation at him. She pressed a kiss to each of his eyelids, then let him go with a laugh, pressing his glasses into his palm. He missed her warmth as soon as she was gone. “Okay, honey, sappy moment over – let’s go kick some fake villain ass.”

She initialized the program, and together, they started to move.

A fierce grin spread across his face, and for once, he didn’t bother hiding it. He was alone with Jean. There was no need to maintain the cool composure the kids expected from him. He felt like himself again.

“Behind you!” she called, and Scott spun to kick back the robot, gracefully jumped away from it. Jean moved so that she was standing with her back to his. “Let’s do this.” 

* * *

 “The Professor asked Logan to cover your combat class today,” she told him. They had moved to her office after finishing up their workout. “To give you some time. We don’t have to go anywhere just yet.”

He felt a flicker of angry, irrational possessiveness. It was _his._ His class, his school, his students. Did the man that had raised him now think some drifter was more capable than him at what he’d spent years training to do?

He forced down the emotion, and as neutrally as possible, said, “Good.”

It didn’t fool her, of course it didn’t.

“You don’t have to be okay with it.”

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “It’s important to not worry the students. I need to try to keep to as much of the normal routine as possible.”

“They’re good kids, Scott, and they look up to you. They’re not going to think any less of you for admitting you need help, or you need time to recover from a traumatic experience.”

“They trust me to protect them,” Scott said. “The school, it’s supposed to be stability. How are they supposed to believe in that if I’m not in control?”

Jean sighed and took a different tack. “In this school, the highest compliment that any kid can be paid is to be told they’re anything like Scott Summers.”

She pressed a finger to his lips, cutting off the protest before he could even open his mouth. “So many of them try so hard to emulate you. Do you want them to think it’s not okay to admit when they’re having a tough time, when they’re scared?”

“I –” He stopped himself. What was there to say? Of course he didn’t. But he couldn’t just…

“I’m not saying you have to break down in front of them or anything,” she said. “But talk to them?”

He exhaled, long and slow. “Okay.” 

* * *

 Scott and Jean were both practical people. They always had been. She was a doctor, an empirical scientist, and he thrived off of control and precision and objective rationality. Neither of them were prone to dramatics or grand gestures. But maybe they’d earned the right to set aside sensibility and responsibility for a little while.

“What do you think?” he asked softly. “October wedding?”

“Sounds perfect.” She laced their fingers together. “Though if you don’t want to deal with too many people…we could always elope. Run off somewhere beautiful, just the two of us, get married, take some time for ourselves…”

Scott couldn’t think of anything more appealing than that. “I might just have to take you up on that.”

Jean pressed something into his hand. It took him a moment to understand what it was. Long, thin, even – a cane.

“I don’t need –” He bit back the rest of his protest. It was stupid to argue over this. She was right – he’d been without sight before, and he knew the mansion well enough to navigate it blind, but it had been years since he’d had to, and there were more people than just him and Charles living there now. It would be foolish to make it harder than it had to be.

He curled his fingers around the cane. “Thank you.”

“Early honeymoon in Hawaii is always an option,” she teased. “Visit Alex, hang out on the beach…we must have months of vacation time saved up at this point.”

By the end of it, she only sounded half kidding.

“Maybe. But right now, _you_ have to go teach a class and _I_ have to go wrangle some students. Lunch?”

“You bet.” 

* * *

 “Bobby,” Scott said. “I thought we were meeting in the garage?”

“Oh! You still want to – can you –”

“My knowledge of automobiles remains perfectly intact, thank you, Bobby,” he said wryly.

“That’s not what I meant,” the boy said. “It’s just…I didn’t think you’d want to think about cars right now.”

Scott didn’t get it at first. Almost asked _why?_ But his inclination to think before speaking stopped him, and the answer came to him almost immediately.

_Oh._

Everyone in the school knew about his fondness for cars, planes, bikes. Even though he never ventured above the speed limit while with students, it was still no secret to them that he liked driving fast.

That was out of the question now.

“Don’t worry about me,” Scott said. “I’m fine. So unless you’re not interested in learning anymore…”

“No! I’ll be there tomorrow, I promise.”

“Good.” 

* * *

 He sat down on the hangar floor, reaching out to touch the Blackbird with the tips of his fingers.

Good old Blackbird.

He’d never get to fly her again. The thought was more painful than he’d expected.

He loved that jet, as much as the motorbike he’d assembled himself or the car he’d restored with Bobby.

 _Pull yourself together, Summers,_ he thought. He could not afford to fall apart in front of the kids. He’d managed blindness before. He could do it again. Maybe he’d still be able to help the kids learn how to fly. He still knew the plane better than anyone.

He stroked the fuselage lovingly, longingly, wishing there was maintenance to be done, wishing he had something to take apart and put back together. If only.

He pressed a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had to go teach a class soon. But until then, he could just sit by himself and pretend nothing at all had changed. 

* * *

 He took a moment to compose himself before entering the room. Calm. Confident. Controlled.

He was supposed to be the mild mannered teacher, the quietly competent one. But right then, he was a man prepared for war. _Cyclops mode,_ Jean called it sometimes, the way he got when he led the X-Men into battle.

His fingers tightened around the cane for the briefest of moments, and he walked into his classroom.

The students immediately went silent. It felt as if everyone in the room was holding their breath. Scott tried not to flinch.

“So we left off on parallel conductance –”

“Mr. Summers?”

Scott stopped in surprise, tensing up automatically. Bobby. He had a sinking feeling that the coming question wasn’t going to have anything to do with physics.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Are you…okay?” Bobby asked carefully.

“Of course I am,” Scott reassured him. “Don’t worry about me.”

God, even his students were pitying him now. How pathetic was that? Jean’s words came to mind, then – _talk to them._ Panic rose in his chest. He couldn’t talk to them. He was supposed to be steady, reliable, dependable. Cool, collected, the mission and the students first, always.

_But you’re also the one that’s always honest with them._

He sighed and took off his glasses. Slowly opened his eyes – he’d shut them out of habit. He felt oddly vulnerable, his entire face exposed.

“This is the risk of what we do. Training, fighting – you always run the risk of getting hurt.”

For once, he wished someone would make a sound. But the room was so silent, he could have heard a pin drop.

“It’s worth it because all of you are worth it,” he said, putting the glasses back on. “You’re the reason we all do what we do. So you’ll have the chance to have a life, to do whatever it is you want to do instead of fighting for survival.”

_You don’t have to do what we do._

“We fight to create a better world. It’s not an easy fight, and it may outlast all of us. But one day, our kind will be able to live without having to be afraid someone will hurt us just for being what we are.”

Silence, still.

“We need more than just fighters and politicians. We need artists and musicians and scientists and accountants as well. By doing those things, by _wanting_ to do those things, you’ll prove that no matter what people think of us, we’re more than just freaks that want rights. Don’t ever think that doing any of those things is unimportant.”

He tapped his desk twice and changed the subject. “So – physics.”

The tension in the room broke, the quiet veering away from the unnatural silence of before and into something more relaxed. He breathed a sigh of relief and started his lecture.

The kids seemed to be listening, but, he supposed, he couldn’t really know. They weren’t talking, at least. Maybe that was all he could hope for.

When he picked up a piece of chalk and turned to the board to write, he heard something spark.

“Jubilee,” he said, still facing the board. The girl gave a small yelp of surprise, and he turned to smile in her direction. “I don’t need to be able to see to know what all of you are doing. Don’t think you can start getting away with things now.”

They laughed, and the sound was almost relieved. He was still him.

“Kitty?” he asked, turning to where he knew she was sitting.

“Yes, Mr. Summers?”

“Catch.” He tossed the chalk, tracing the sound of her voice to find her exact spot. “Would you do me a favour and draw some diagrams for me?” 

* * *

 He called for Kitty to stay back as the students started to leave. “Kitty, weren’t we supposed to go over your independent study proposal?”

“Oh! I thought…”

“Thought what?” he asked as she trailed off. He tried not to sound harsh. The kids didn’t deserve him taking out his frustration on them.

“Well, I thought maybe you’d prefer it if I went to Professor Xavier,” she said. “It can’t be easy to work on signal processing if you can’t write out the math.”

He was silent for a long moment, trying to understand the implications of that sentence.

Kitty had always been one of his favourite students, and he’d always thought she liked him, too. She had said that she thought _he’d_ prefer it…did she mean it? Or was she just trying to soften the blow of not wanting his help anymore? Should he say that he was still available, or would that just back her into a corner and make her feel obligated when she no longer wanted to work with him?

Not for the first time, he wished he had Jean’s powers.

“Okay,” he said at last. “But if you do want my help, you know where to find me.”

Instead of staying for an answer the girl might not want to give, he walked away. 

* * *

 Jean met him in the hallway, and they fell into step. She projected a picture of her face into his mind. The mental image mouthed, _Hawaii._ He resisted the urge to laugh.

He was skittish about PDA at the best of times, but he wrapped an arm around his fiancée and pressed a kiss to her hair.

They retreated to their room instead of going to their offices.

She sat in bed and caught up on journal articles while he worked on lesson plans at the desk and wished he could see what he was writing. They didn’t speak much, but he could feel her presence, constant and comforting. They stayed there for hours, leaving only for dinner and returning to their work as soon as they finished eating.

Eventually, Jean shifted, gathering up her papers in her arms and moving them to the nightstand.

“It’s late, Scott,” she said, crossing the room to squeeze his shoulders. “Come to bed.”

He made a few grumbled protests about still having work to do, but he acquiesced quickly enough. She was right and he knew it.

He changed quickly into pajama pants and a T-shirt, neatly folding his slacks and turtleneck and placing them on top of the dresser before climbing into bed. Jean cuddled up behind him.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Sleep usually came easily enough to him. It hadn’t always, and there were still nights when he woke up from a nightmare with his heart racing, but he could usually lay his head down to rest and force himself to sleep. Now…he was just afraid.

For years now, he’d been afraid of forgetting colours. Now he feared forgetting his students’ faces, Jean’s smile, the twinkle in the Professor’s eyes.

“ _Hey_ ,” Jean said. She caught his hand. “I would never let that happen.”

She projected images into his mind – Rogue and Kitty, sitting next to each other in the living room; herself, laughing and holding her crossword out of his reach; Professor Xavier teaching a class; the two of them, right then, curled up together, her pressed against his back.

When she spoke again, it was wordlessly. _You have me. You will always have me. I’m not going anywhere._

“I love you,” he said. She turned her face and brushed her lips against his temple, just a whisper of a kiss.

“I love _you_ ,” she echoed. She pressed her cheek against his and gave his hand a squeeze. “Go to sleep, Scott. Tomorrow will be another day.” 

* * *

 He woke up early the next morning, finding himself lying flat on his back, with Jean, still asleep, nestled into his side. Doing his best not to disturb her, he got up carefully and dressed, swearing as quietly as possible when he bumped into the dresser. They normally worked out together in the morning, but she needed her rest.

After spending two hours in the gym, he showered and made his way to the kitchen. Light from the rising sun warmed his face as he made a pot of coffee and snagged an apple from the fruit bowl.

Someone walked into the kitchen as he was drinking a second cup of coffee and leaning against the counter.

“Good morning,” he greeted, unsure as to who had joined him.

“Hi, Mr. Summers.”

The voice was soft, female. To his chagrin, he couldn’t immediately place it. It wasn’t one he heard often. Almost immediately, though, the girl added, “It’s…it’s Amara.”

He nodded. She pulled up a chair at the table and snagged a box of cereal. Scott thought about trying to take out the milk for her. Decided against it. Passed her a spoon instead.

“Ms. Munroe was looking for you,” Amara said through a mouthful of cereal. “I think she’s in the living room now.”

“Thank you, Amara,” he said. He smiled at her and left the kitchen. He moved slower than usual, carefully picking his way through the halls. He’d left the cane Jean had got for him in their room, despite his vow to himself to accept the need for it. It was foolish, but he resented that cane.

Eventually, he reached the living room. He sat down in his usual seat. If Ororo were there, she’d say something.

“Good morning,” her voice came from the armchair in the corner where she always sat. He returned her greeting and waited.

She didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he turned his face to where he knew she was. “Just say it, Ororo.”

“Scott…” she trailed off. “I know we’ve been trying to push back the conversation…but we both know that you’ve been thinking about it.”

He waited.

“The X-Men,” she said, faster, as if she needed to get it out before she lost the nerve. “The team is everything to you, I know, but –”

“But I can’t lead it anymore,” he finished flatly. _Of course._ He’d known that the others would talk to him about it eventually, had tried to prepare for it, but somehow, he still wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“This can wait,” Ororo offered, tossing him that lifeline, but he shook his head.

_The mission comes first._

“No, no, you’re right,” he said. “We should talk about it. We need to figure out what we’re going to do going forward. The team is too important to wait on me feeling better.”

Ororo took his hand. “It’s still _your_ team.”

And there it was – the sentence that brought tears to his eyes. He blinked them away. His team? How could it be, when right now, they were talking about how he couldn’t lead it anymore?

“You’re the best fighter I know, Scott, with or without sight or powers. I’ve seen you fight blind before, I know you’re good, but…”

And it seemed they had known each other for far too long, because he knew exactly where she was going with that.

“But without sight, I fight as an individual, not a team leader.”

He was hurting her. He didn’t need to see her face to know that. His blunt stating of facts that they both knew she’d been thinking was making her feel horrible. As if she were being insensitive and borderline cruel to a friend that had already lost so much.

But Storm was both strong and honest, and she said, voice even, “Yes.”

She added, “It’s not your fault. You can handle yourself, but you can’t manage your usual on the fly tactics if you can’t see everything. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I understand.”

And he did. He didn’t like it, but he understood. He managed a smile, because Ororo needed it, needed that reassurance that he didn’t hate her for bringing up the subject and taking his team away from him, and said, “I know you’ll do great.”

“Thanks, Fearless Leader.”

They were quiet for a little while before Scott heard Ororo getting up and sitting down next to him instead. He turned his face towards her again, preparing for her to touch him.

“We’ll always need you to plan before we go in,” his old friend said, clearly trying to soften the blow. “No one can replace you, Scott.”

And God, she needed to stop, because his eyes were stinging again, and he found himself fervently grateful for the fact he was wearing the ruby quartz sunglasses he no longer needed.

“You don’t have to make me feel better, you know,” he said, quietly, aiming for humour and probably missing. “It’s okay. You’ll get on fine without me. I’m not an X-Man anymore. I’ll get used to it.”

She hugged him, warm arms encircling him. “You will _always_ be an X-Man.”

“Thanks, Storm,” he said, returning the hug. “It means a lot.” 

* * *

 He headed straight back to his room. The kids would be filling the kitchen now, heading to classes. He didn’t think he was ready to deal with that.

Jean was there waiting for him.

He knew the look she would have on her face as she looked at him – pained, compassionate, the mien of a woman that was feeling every bit of his pain. He’d always hated putting that expression on her face, always wished it was gone and that he didn’t have to see it, that she didn’t have to feel it. Right then, he’d have done anything to be able to look at her, and he hated himself all the more for it.

“Scott…”

The unarticulated question hung in the air between them for a moment as she closed the distance between them. She brushed his mind with hers, silently asking for him to let her in completely.

“I’m fine,” he said, but a shudder wracked his body despite that, and he choked back a sob.

Jean folded him into her arms tightly, fiercely protective, as if she would fight off anyone that dared go near him again, as if all she wanted was to protect him from any harm. She just held him close and didn’t say a word.

He clung to her and finally let himself cry.

She released him after a long time, only to grab him by the shoulders.

“You are so much more than just Cyclops,” she said, firm and unyielding. “You hear me?”

He nodded morosely and wondered when he’d become so maudlin. He had known exactly who he was. All the doubt and self flagellation and obsessive planning – they had left him perfectly aware of both his flaws and his strengths. But now…

“I have to go pick up a new student today,” Jean said, changing the subject, and he could sense the undertone of anxiety in her voice, the valiant effort she was making to not fuss over him. “Will you be okay here? You could come, you usually get the new kids anyway. Or I could ask Storm– ”

“Jean,” he interrupted. Gave her a quick kiss. “It’s okay. Go.”

“I’ll be back by tomorrow morning. Call me if you need anything,” she said, letting it drop. He nodded. 

* * *

 It was a pleasant evening, the air cool and still. He caught the scent of cigar smoke and beer and closed his eyes. _Not now_.

“What do you want, Logan?” he asked tiredly.

“Came for a beer,” Logan said.  He sat down on the step beside Scott. “Want one?”

“This is a _school,_ ” Scott said, frowning. “Children live here. You shouldn’t –”

“Do you want one or not?” Logan asked.

“Yes,” Scott admitted. Logan made a satisfied grunt and passed him a bottle, cap already popped off. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They sat there in silence for a while, sipping their beers. It was Logan that finally broke it. “I brought back your bike.”

“Keep it,” he found himself saying. “Not like I can use it anymore, right?”

Not like he’d have ever gotten it back anyway. But – “Wait, do you even have a license?”

“What, you want to take me to the DMV?”

Scott’s mouth quirked into something resembling a smile. “Well, that’s a horrifying prospect.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my driving, kid.”

“How many times have you wrecked my car now?”

He immediately wished he hadn’t said it. _Don’t try to pick a fight right now._

Scott didn’t think he’d be able to deal with this escalating right then. Not without punching Logan. So he changed the subject.

“You going to stick around for a while?”

“Yeah, I guess."

“Want a spar?”

Logan considered it. “Yeah, sure.” 

* * *

 He woke up in the middle of the night when Jean crawled into bed beside him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi, yourself,” he whispered back, rolling over to face her and draping an arm over her waist. “I didn’t expect you back this soon.”

“Drove straight through. I have to go to Washington next weekend, didn’t want to be away too long.”

“I could go with you,” he said. “Next weekend, I mean.”

“Scott, you _hate_ Washington. Why on Earth would you voluntarily go?” Her tone was light and almost amused – she didn’t see it yet.

_Deflect, deflect, deflect._

“Moral support for my favourite superhero?” he offered, grinning at her.

“ _Scott._ ” Apparently, Jean wasn’t in the mood for banter. The amusement was gone. She knew him, and knew that wasn’t it. She pulled away from him, and he heard the click of the lamp on the nightstand switching on. He sat up, too. “Really. What’s going on? Do you really want to get away from here that badly?”

He sobered immediately and held his hands out. She took them. “No, no, that’s not it. I promise. It’s…”

He let go of one of her hands momentarily to sweep a hand towards his face. “This will be useful. It’ll…it’ll help elicit public sympathy. Kidnapping, illegal and non-consensual experimentation…I’ll be your backup. Just in case.”

Jean went very still. “You’d be willing to do that?”

“Yes.”

Being paraded around so people could gawk at him and pity him sounded like his definition of hell. But they needed every bit of support they could get for their cause. Also…

“Better me than anyone else, right?” he added. “You and I, the world already knows about the two of us, that we’re mutants. I’m not willing to sacrifice anyone else’s right to anonymity, but the public needs a personal face on it to care.”

She brought their joined hands to her mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “My hero.”

He aimed for humour. “If it doesn’t go well, we could always try out your beach bum idea.”

She switched the light off and lay back down, pulling him down with her. 

* * *

 He recognized the soft cadence of Rogue’s accent, and he found himself calling her back as she moved to leave.

“Yeah, Mr. Summers?”

“Rogue?” he asked carefully, furious at himself for wanting to make the request while simultaneously needing to know. “Would you be willing to try a little experiment with me?”

“Of course. What do you need?” Her voice was much, much too kind. Even now, everyone at the house was still trying to protect him.

“You can say no if you’re not comfortable with it,” he hedged. “But I’d like you to try to absorb my powers.”

“You want me to – I could _kill_ you,” she said, shock and horror pushing aside the gentleness. “Why?”

“Curiosity?” Scott offered. “Confirmation that whatever they did to me doesn’t change the fact that _you_ can still use my powers. Could be useful, one day.”

Rogue was quiet for a while, but she didn’t leave. Scott imagined she was surveying him, trying to make a decision.

“If it helps…” he began, “I know you can do it.”

She didn’t respond with words, but he heard her step closer, presumably peeling off a glove.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because if you’re absolutely sure you want me to, I’ll do it.”

He nodded. Held out his hand, palm up. She hesitated for another brief instant, then took his hand. He braced himself, but the contact wasn’t painful. Rogue let go after a few seconds.

“Is there anything I can –”

Scott gestured to himself. “It’ll let us test if I’m still immune, too.”

Rogue sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’ll be okay,” he assured her. “Just try it out.”

A brief silence. Then – “You’re not flying into a wall.”

He smiled, relief flooding through him. “No, I’m not. Good. This is…good.”

Part of him wondered if this meant his powers could come back. He firmly pushed aside the thought. No. If they did, they did – there was no point obsessing over it.

He clasped Rogue’s shoulder. “Thank you, Marie.”

Voice soft once more, she said, “Of course.” 

* * *

 He stood awkwardly in front of the Professor, straight backed and still, hands behind his back.

“How are your classes going, Scott?”

He almost said _fine,_ but stopped himself. The Professor would never accept that answer. Instead, he said carefully, “There have been minor challenges, but nothing insurmountable.”

“Very good. And how has the adjustment been? Losing your powers as well as your sight cannot be an easy thing to experience.”

There was nothing he could say about his vision. No way to deflect it. As for the powers…“I’m still a mutant. Nothing they do is going to change that. It’s in my DNA.”

He’d lost his powers before, and every time, he’d been ecstatic. Delighted. To take off his glasses, his visor, and not be afraid of destroying everything around him! To see colours again! To get to look into Jean’s eyes!

But now they were gone forever, and he didn’t have his sight back. He’d lost his powers and his vision and the X-Men, all in one swoop. He’d claimed nothing would ever change the fact he was a mutant. But was he really, anymore? Maybe one day he’d get his powers back. But maybe he wouldn’t.

What business did he have here now? What could he contribute?

“You’re my son, Scott,” the Professor said, matter of fact. “You were my first X-Man. You led the team for years. You will always belong here. No matter what.”

It had been a long time since he’d been the scared teenager Charles Xavier had taken in. A long time since he’d been that helpless and uncertain. A long time since he’d dedicated his life to the X-Men and the school. Yet somehow, in that moment, he felt like that child once more – lost, unsure, willing to do nearly anything the man that had given him a home asked of him.

“I won’t let you down, Professor,” he said. His throat felt strangely tight. When the Professor responded, Scott could hear the smile in his voice.

“My boy, you never have.” 

* * *

 He sighed ruefully and ran a hand over the roof of the car he had so painstakingly worked to improve. Jean covered it with her own.

“I love fast cars,” he said, and despite the fact that everyone that had ever known him knew that, that Jean certainly knew it, it still came out sounding like a confession. “Fast bikes. Planes. My only real indulgence.”

She pressed her hand into his until he turned it over and she could intertwine their fingers. “Come on.”

She tugged him away from the car and towards his bike before he could even formulate the question in his mind, snagging their helmets as they went. She sat down and pulled him down behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

“Ready?”

He squeezed her waist. “Always.” 

* * *

 They came to a stop and dismounted. Jean pulled off both of their helmets and set them aside, then took his hands.

“I know it’s not the same,” Jean said. He imagined her beloved face, the solemn, hopeful tenderness in those stunning eyes he’d never again look into. “But it’s still something, right?”

He smiled at her and nodded, tightening his grip on her hand reassuringly. “Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> I...don't know. I'm sorry. This was kind of weird, and I know it flips around a lot, but I really love Scott.


End file.
